


The Time for Change

by Saraku



Category: One Piece
Genre: Christmas, Family Issues, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:51:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9035198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraku/pseuds/Saraku
Summary: Ace never found a reason to celebrate during the time where survival was harder - growing up in a forest did that. The date itself being so close to one he hated didn't help.Somehow, Marco and Thatch make it work.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RockingTheGraveyard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingTheGraveyard/gifts).



“What’s going on?” Ace asked quizzically, brows furrowed as he observed the chaos occurring in the galley; some were balancing on tables to hang multi-coloured lights, others were playing with garland – Ace had briefly remembered hearing the word from Makino – and were tangling them on door frames.

A hand clapped at his back, and Ace stumbled slightly, not expecting the action. Peering over his shoulder, he noticed Thatch was the one to clap on his back with Marco leaning on the railing, a sigh escaping the First Commander. "What's going on? _What is going on?_ " Thatch repeated, stalking in front of Ace and leaning down to peer at the younger pirate. "This, Ace, is the family finalizing preparations for the wonderful time of Christmas!”

Ace took a step back. “Wait – Christmas?”

“Yep!”

“Thatch, give him an elaborate explanation. It’s obvious he has no idea what’s going on, yoi,” Marco cut in, stepping forward as Thatch blushed sheepishly, and Ace smiled at him in thanks.

“Christmas is the time for a lot of things! Time with family, presents, _food!_ We celebrate in a bunch of different ways.”

"… So, does everyone celebrate by hanging up strange décor and lights everywhere?"

Marco shook his head, clearly amused by the question; Thatch, on the other hand, looked mortified at the question.

“Wait wait wait,” Thatch interrupted, eyes narrowed. “You mean to tell me you’ve _never_ celebrated Christmas?”

Ace blinked, clearly surprised at Thatch’s interruption. “No? I mean,” he shrugged nonchalantly, oblivious to Thatch’s mortified look and Marco smacking the side of the chef’s head, “where I grew up, Christmas was less of a happy, mushy thing and more like – no, it _is_ – a harder challenge to go through.”

Thatch gave him a mournful look, and Marco elbowed the chef quickly; Ace reacted oddly to thing that could be taken like pity. Gathering his bearings, Thatch spoke up. “Well then, little brother! It’s time for change, no?” He grinned towards Ace. “We’ve been preparing for this since – “

“Thatch has had this food plan prepared since last year,” Marco interrupted, earning him a mock glare from Thatch. Marco pointed to one table brimming with food, some miraculously staying on despite the dangerous teetering on the edge. “Honestly, Thatch.” That was _one_ table.

Ace tilted his head. “Why is there so much food? I’m not complaining, but – “ Ace extended his arms to express his point, smirking at Marco’s snort behind him. “ – seriously, even _I_ can’t eat all this without it going to waste in a week.”

Thatch gave him a wolfish grin, stepping up beside Ace. “All of this, Ace, is made to last until New Years Eve. We Whitebeard Pirates never say no to a party, especially for the one when we celebrate the New Year!” Thatch proclaimed, grin widening when the collected group of cremates cheered at Thatch’s proclamation. "We celebrate how we've made it another year, and set the standards for the rest of the year!" Marco was watching Ace carefully, eyes narrowing when Thatch looped an arm around Ace to rest on his shoulder, because Ace _stiffened._

The way Thatch’s hand twitched in response told Marco that the Fourth Commander noticed as well, no matter how subtle Ace made it look.

Ace pushed Thatch’s arm away, and if it weren’t for their keenness, Marco and Thatch would have found it perfectly normal – after all, Ace wasn’t a touchy-feely person. “I – I’ll be back,” Ace said, tone placating – Marco wondered what the hell he was sorry for – “I just need to go grab something.”

Marco took the opportunity to help Ace escape, ruffling his hair. “Go. I need to have a word with the local idiot.” Marco eyed Thatch, who looked (read: faked) insulted and Ace nodded, the look of relief evident on his face and turned around, walking away with the air of calmness if it were not for the clenched, shaking hands.

Marco turned his attention to Thatch, who put his hands up, trying – and failing – to look innocent. "What did I do!?" He exclaimed, shooting the crew dirty looks as they snickered behind him. “ _What?_ ”

Snatching and pulling at Thatch’s wrist, they moved below deck and towards the Commander’s section of the bunks; wrenching his room open, Marco slammed it close to imitate anger.

“Something’s wrong.”

Marco gave him a droll look. “Clearly. What did you say, Thatch?”

The man in question threw his hands up in the air, not knowing the answer. “I don’t know! Christmas, living for the next year, New Years Day?”

Reaching into the corners of his memory, Marco could briefly recoil the incident with Ace’s arm tattoo and how Ace reacted when January first was mentioned.

“Hey, birdbrain,” interrupted Thatch, worry clear on his face. “Mind telling me how I messed up?”

“By accident,” Marco replied. “I’ll talk to him – you couldn’t have known. Hell, I doubt this is something even Oyaji doesn’t know.”

“But you do?”

Marco shook his head, opening the door for them to step out of. “No,” he said, letting Thatch step out first before exiting. “A hunch.”

Finding Ace was easy; Marco had long narrowed down the potential areas Ace would retreat to. Ace wasn’t in his room, nor was he in the training rooms; hell, he wasn’t even in the crow’s nest. Marco had to fly to get to the lowered sections of the crow’s nest where Ace had made his resting place.

(How does the kid move so fast? It’s as if he went against tigers as a child.)

“G’ away.” The response was muffled, and Marco sighed.

“Ace.” Marco’s voice was firm and commanding – the same tone he used during a serious battle. “If you don’t want to talk, I won’t force you, yoi, but I’m here if you need me,” Marco said, the underlying tones of worry evident in his voice.

Ace shifted, moving his head enough to peek his eyes out, partially hidden by his hair. Marco hated seeing the foreign look his youngest brother’s eyes – fury, sorrow, exhaustion. “I hate the first day of the year.” Marco said nothing, instead moving to sit beside Ace, leaning on the wall. Ace took his silence as a sign to continue. “I just… don’t have a reason to celebrate. It’s never been a happy day for me,” Ace said, but to Marco, it sounded more like a question than a statement. Ace shrugged, looking towards Marco to see his reaction.

“I told you Ace. I won’t force you to talk – this is all on your own volition. Whatever you say, I won’t press.”

“I…” Ace hesitated, biting his lip. “I’ve had bad moments with it. The biggest one is…” He looked Marco dead in the eye. “Don’t give me piteous looks or the sort, alright?”

Marco nodded, the feeling of dread pooling inside him.

“My… That was the day my mother died. She died giving birth to me.”

Marco’s eyes widened at the confession, and he bit his lip harshly to stop himself from giving a comment of “I’m sorry for your loss” or any variation of it – he had promised Ace, after all. Ace eyed him warily, before continuing. “I never found a reason to celebrate that, plus some… other things.” Ace drummed his fingers on his leg. “There’s a reason I don’t like to celebrate my birthday, but… Honestly? There were times I celebrated it. Not for me, but for Luffy. He – “ Ace stopped talking abruptly.

Marco rested a hand on Ace’s shoulder, rubbing it gently. “You have every reason not to be happy with that date, Ace,” he reassured the younger pirate, the muscles that had been tense were slowly relaxing under Marco’s massaging grip. “Remember: you don’t have to keep taking.”

Ace gave a long exhale, one full of pent-up sadness and frustration. “I’m – I’m alright.”

Marco raised an eyebrow. “You feel alright now?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Marco.” Ace quipped him a grin, pushing his hat up. “Just needed some time to think.”

“Come to a conclusion, yoi?”

“Mm!” Ace hummed, standing up, the tired look in his eyes gone, and Marco was thankful for that. “My solution is simple: I need to get a hobby.”

Marco gave him a droll, playful look. “You have a hobby: it’s annoying us.”

Ace laughed freely, and Marco huffed in response, eyes twinkling in humour. “Fine, an actual hobby. Does me doing art count?”

“Brat; of course it does.”

“Well, it’s settled. I now have a plan for this,” Ace exclaimed, stretching his hands in anticipation. “Hey, Marco? If you can, could you take a look at it after?”

Marco rolled his eyes, pushing the back of Ace’s head slightly. “Of course. Now go. I need to berate Thatch for being a moron.”

Ace snorted, jumping down from the lowered ledge of the crow’s nest, much to the confusion (and horror) of those that had been walking right by at when Ace landed. Their shouts of surprise only increased Ace’s laughter, and Marco huffed, shaking his forlornly. “He doesn’t change, does he?”

For the next two hours, Ace was nowhere to be seen, and Marco’s only response to Thatch’s never-ending set of questions was: “Wait for it.”

Marco had avoided Thatch for an hour during the two hours Ace’s presence had disappeared from the ship.

“Where’d Ace go?” Haruta asked.

Marco grinned, pointing a finger towards the corner of the galley; there, hidden by the shadows but still visible, was Ace, looking concentratedly at a sheet of paper. A small orb of fire occasionally flickered beside him, lighting up his face and whatever was in the proximity.

“Is he drawing?” Izo inquired.

“Yeah,” replied Marco, recalling their conversation. “He just needed some time to think, yoi.” When the others stepped up to talk to Ace, he held an arm out to stop them. “Don’t. He’s planning something.”

“Wha – “ Thatch recoiled, looking mildly offended. “You let him scheme, but not me!?” He cried out, dramatically pulling away, moving a hand to wipe a nonexistent tear away. “That ‘planning’ could be a prank!”

Marco rolled his eyes, turning around and walking away. “Ace isn’t going to prank anyone during an event that’s clearly important to us, _plus_ , Ace doesn’t initiate pranks. He either gets dragged into them, or retaliates.”

Haruta shrugged. “So long he doesn’t target me, I’m fine.” The Twelfth commander tugged at Izo’s sleeve. “Blenheim said something about winning a bet, and dressing up Atmos. He wants your help, and I want to watch.”

Thatch whined, but when the other commanders ignored it, he huffed and staled to go with Io and Haruta, where the two were animatedly talking about how to “piss of Atmos without making him explode”.

It took three hours for the party to quiet down in the galley and go full-swing on-deck. Marco sighed, hands stuffed in his pockets as he maneuvered around his drunk siblings’ prone forms. Making his towards the corner of the galley, he sat down the seat and let a sigh leave. Rubbing a hand on his forehead, he peered at the person slumped over the table.

Ace slept quietly, head resting on hands that were nestled on the table, papers haphazardly scattered around. Marco smiled, reaching out to pull at the teen’s hat when Ace shifted, mumbling incoherently and the paper that had become stuck underneath him unearthed itself Marco took the opportunity to snatch it and place it beside the neat stack, resisting the urge to look at what had occupied Ace’s time.

…

_“If you can, could you take a look at it later?”_

“You asked, Ace,” Marco muttered, picking up the paper that was previously hidden, taking a clear look at it. It seemed the setting was the deck, and the design of their father’s chair was clear like day to Marco. Various shapes that reminded him of the other commanders surrounded the large form that was obviously Whitebeard. The faces were surprisingly detailed; even though it wasn’t lined, Marco could pick out the crescent scar on Thatch’s face.

Peering at the table, one of the scattered sheets of paper bared a resemblance towards the cleaned, detailed sketch Marco had been observing. Carefully snatching the sheet to prevent crumpling, he compared the two; not to his surprise, the two were very similar – the general location as setting was the same, but posing and facial expressions were changed. In the clean version, he could easily tell the emotion showcased in their father’s eyes.

On the back of the initial sketch, Marco discovered a list.

  * ~~Whitebeard’s~~ Oyaji’s chair/ ~~Whi~~ Oyaji himself
  * 15 commanders ~~in front of~~ surrounding
  * Every other face remembered



There were more written, but it had gotten dangerously sloppy and smudged, and Marco wasn’t risking a headache trying to decipher the teen’s writing when he was tired. Marco smiled softly, grabbing papers and organizing them best way he could. He’d have to wake Ace later, knowing he would want to finish that before the actual day.

Grabbing the blanket Ace had laid out beside him, Marco draped it over the sleeping teen, who mumbled in response. “Goodnight, little brother,” Marco said, quietly moving away and towards the deck, where shouts of joy grasped his attention.

(It took Marco three minutes to realize Ace had crossed out Whitebeard, and instead called him ‘Oyaji’.)

 

~~*~~*~~

 

“Oi. You awake?”

“Shut up,” Ace responded, head shooting up, and Marco sighed as Ace’s head smacked right onto Thatch’s nose, resulting two, groaning pirates. “Ow! That was uncalled for!” Thatch complained, holding onto his nose that was miraculously not broken.

“What!?” Ace snarled, putting one hand on the small bump on the back of his head, with one hand slamming on the table. “ _That_ was uncalled for! What were you doing, dying my hair!?” Ace shouted, oblivious to the wincing pirates that sported hangovers, and instead tangling his hand on his hair.

Marco sighed. “No, yoi, he wasn’t doing that. But,” he gestured to the sorted stack of sheets that rested in the orange hat, “I’d figure you wanted to finish that for today, and the local idiot – “

“Hey!”

“ – decided to wake you up in the least conventional way.”

Ace’s eyes widened when Marco pointed to his drawing, quickly snatching them up and running off before Thatch could comprehend what just happened.

“Hey!” Thatch shouted, moving to run after Ace, but Marco simply cuffed the back of thatch’s head. “You! That was also uncalled for!”

“Shut up, yoi,” Marco replied, ignoring the responding whines. “I told you: he has plans. Let him plan, Thatch, even if it’s just this once.”

“…Fine,” Thatch agreed, and Marco smiled. “But only because it’s his first real Christmas! No more! Not even during New Years!”

“What about his birthday?”

“I – “ Thatch’s eyes narrowed, and he _fumed_. “That’s _brat_. His birthday! I completely forgot! I need to ask him – “

“if he wanted us to know, he would have told us.”

Thatch pouted, crossing his arms petulantly. “…Ugh. Fine. But I’m not going to forget to ask him!”

…

Thatch had forgotten fifteen hours later, when the sun was beginning to set, and the only glimpses of Ace were when he dashed into the kitchen to grab an armful of food and dash back to somewhere. They knew it was likely his room, but that was Ace’s room and they didn’t intrude without permission. At some point, one of the pirates that were part of the Spade Pirates came up to Marco, asked (read: demanded) to “explain to me what the hell you did that’s making Ace hide in his room practically the entire day.”

Marco mentioned the word drawing and it was as if the conversation never occurred – the former Spade Pirates knew of Ace’s quirkiness. So, when Ace emerged from his room, Thatch looked ready to strangle him.

“You! The next time you want food, just come eat with us!” Thatch accused, dramatizing and exaggerating his gestures. “I’m hurt, Ace! Don’t you want to see my beautiful face?”

“No,” Ace deadpanned, running a hand in his hair as the pencil stuck to his ear started to untangle. In his other hand, a sheet of canvas paper was delicately held facedown, so the group couldn’t see what was on it.

“How dare you!” Thatch retorted, before gesturing to Izo, who rolled his eyed in response to Thatch’s theatrics. “Would you say something like that to Izo, our local fashionista and beauty extraordinaire – “

Ace held up the canvas paper, a nervous look on his face, cutting off Thatch’s rant.

Thatch was staring at it wide-eyed. Izo looked speechless; hell, Marco himself couldn’t really say anything; despite having seen how it was generally going to look, Ace’s art just took away their breath. As before, the setting was on-deck, with Whitebeard the largest – and most obvious – thing on the design. Despite the size difference between Whitebeard and the other pirates surrounding him, the details were surprisingly clear; Thatch’s scar, Curiel’s tattoo, Namur’s gills were indications on who was who, but even then, the clothing was all they needed to be identified. Other crew-member could be identified as well, with a large amount of diversity as Marco realized there was at least two of each division member showcased in the drawing.

“Ace,” Thatch exhaled, “what the _hell_?”

 ** _Thatch_** **.** Marco internally started shouting.

Ace paled, looking distressed at Thatch’s wording and tone. Izo elbowed him in the stomach before smiling kindly at Ace. “Don’t worry, Ace. Thatch here just can’t comprehend this – it doesn’t help that he gets tongue-tangled when surprised, and the fact that this is the first time he’s seen one of your works.

Ace stammered, and Marco grinned, smacking Thatch’s arm. “It’s beautiful, Ace.”

“Very,” added izo. “Is this for a specific person?”

“I – “ Ace swallowed, hesitant. “It’s – it’s for… it’s for Oyaji.”

Thatch’s eyes bugged out, effectively making Ace recoil in shock. “Did you just – ?”

“I’m sure Oyaji will love it, yoi,” Marco cut in, ignoring Thatch’s stammering. “be careful, though. He’s bound to grab and give you a hug in thanks.”

Ace opened his mouth to respond, but excited shouts and cries of “The sun’s gone down!” and other variations caught their attention, and before they group knew it, the galley was filled with excited pirates, with Whitebeard’s joyous laughter capturing their attention.

Thatch caught Ace in a headlock, eliciting a cry of surprise from the teen. “Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, whatever it is they say at your birthplace!” Whitebeard said, grinning at the sight of his newest – and youngest – charge playfully squirming in Thatch’s grip. Marco was making no attempt to hide his chuckles. “It is that time of the year again; traditionally, this event is celebrated for religious purposes or none at all, but for us, it is not about who we worship. It is not about receiving gifts or being in a rivalry who can give the most. For us, it is a time for reunions, for meeting, for _family_.”

Silence reigned at Whitebeard’s words, and Marco stood up, taking his place. “And as part of this family, it’s our job to make sure the new ones fit in!” Marco had a perfect view of Ace’s face losing colour, and he was no longer thrashing in Thatch’s grip; the commander in question was doing his best to hold onto his laughter. “Not only Is this event special because we have new members, but it seems, for one of them, they’ve never celebrated this event before.”

 _Traitor!_ Ace mouthed towards him, eyes wide with a mixture of sheepishness, apprehension, and fear in his eyes.

Marco was enjoying this far too much.

“Oyaji!” The man looked at him curiously. “I believe Ace has a gift for you – you know, the same person who’s never celebrated Christmas before – “

“ _Marco!”_

Marco never got to finish his sentence because Thatch had released Ace and the teen _bolted_ before the silence had been overtaken by incoherent shout and cheers and _goddamn orders to grab Ace._

Whitebeard’s laughter was not enough to drown it out as Thatch wheezed from his position, laughing wildly as the ship rumbled loudly with over sixteen-hundred people looking for Ace.

“What was this gift now, my sons?” Whitebeard inquired, grinning as he raised his sake cup.

Haruta clapped his hands gleefully. “Definitely the gift of making everyone lively and happy!”

Marco smiled inwardly. He knew of their father’s plan to make Ace the Second Division Commander, and the chaos Ace had unexpectedly caused was certainly helping the brat’s case.

“Ace’s gift is the final thing to what you’re looking for, Oyaji.”

**Author's Note:**

> For OPSecretSanta2016. I got RockingTheGraveyard, so... here you go! I hope you all enjoy, and that you have a marvelous holiday/Christmas!


End file.
